


All We Have

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Canon, Drama, Season/Series 05, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-11
Updated: 2004-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-27 00:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: Post-414 fic.





	All We Have

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

“Jesus Christ, you have a ton of shit.” Brian dropped Justin’s 12th box of said ‘shit’ on the loft’s floor, or what could have once been considered a floor. Three more suitcases of clothes were strewn haphazardly across his—their—bed, still waiting to be unpacked. One drawer had quickly turned into half the fucking loft.

“I’ve always had this much stuff. I just never felt comfortable enough to move it all in here. You would have had a shit fit before.” Justin plopped down on the futon cushions, stretching his arms and legs. His shirt shifted with his movements, revealing a thin strip of pale skin that Brian zeroed in on immediately.

“What do you think I’m having now, Sunshine?” Climbing on top of him, Brian gently ran his fingers through the soft blond hair gathered at his temples before reaching down to stroke the exposed flesh. 

Justin hummed his approval of Brian’s chosen activity and arched his back to lean into his touch. Both men were coated with a light sheen of sweat, clothes stuck to their bodies.

“Most of this shit is going to be shipped to LA in a couple of months. So there’s really no need to go into ‘queen mode’.” Brian, who had been lazily sucking on his earlobe, pulled back to look at Justin.

“If you think *this* is me being a queen, then just wait until I have to fly across the goddamned country to get a decent blowjob.” He smirked, tongue in cheek, but Justin could hear the truth hidden in his words. Brian was going to miss him.

Grabbing the back of his head, Justin brought Brian’s lips to his in a leisurely kiss, their tongues melting together. Clothes were eventually tossed aside as arms and legs wrapped around each other, creating one form. Justin languidly pushed his hips up to meet Brian’s controlled thrusting, reveling in the familiarity and ease with which he and Brian loved one another. They came with soft gasps and whispered nonsense before falling asleep entwined together on the cushions.

********

Later that afternoon, Brian sat at his computer finishing some work for a meeting the next morning, while Justin attempted to unpack. Most of the boxes were filled with his art supplies that would make the trip to California with him. Others contained assorted junk; CDs, DVDs, textbooks, a couple of Deb’s ‘heirlooms’, dildos, and so on. Brian had cleared four drawers and some shelf space. The corner where the chaise lounge once sat had now officially been dubbed ‘the studio’. Two easels and Justin’s art chest were propped against the wall. As Justin glanced their way, he couldn’t help but smile. He was home.

Brian, noticing the silly grin, couldn’t hold back a snarky reply. “If you get any paint on my floor, Sunshine, your ass is mine.”

Wiggling his ass provocatively, Justin laughed. “What an empty-handed threat. My ass has been yours for years.” Picking up the packaging tape, he sealed a box bound for LA. The rest could wait for morning.

“Are you hungry yet? Want to go to the diner?”

“Death by salmonella poisoning sounds good to me.”

“Jesus, Brian. You are entirely too predictable sometimes.”

Swatting his backside, Brian stood, grabbed his wallet, and headed out the door behind Justin. Bypassing the elevator, they predictably raced each other down the stairs like competitive little boys. Brian never won because Justin was a sneaky bastard, but he claimed ‘he liked the view from behind’ more than winning.

Once outside, Brian began walking to the ‘vette, but Justin grabbed his hand.

“Let’s walk. It feels nice. Warm weather in the Pitts shouldn’t be taken for granted.”

Brian shoved his keys back into his front pocket and slung his arm around Justin’s shoulder, quietly acquiescing. The sun was shining and the residents of Pittsburgh were moving about. Children played games on the sidewalk around yelping puppies; a couple of older men lounged on balconies in lawn chairs. American and rainbow flags waved side-by-side in the warm breeze.

Rounding the corner of Tremont onto Liberty, Justin tightened his grip around Brian’s waist. Times like these made life worth living. In a few short weeks, Liberty Avenue would be replaced with the glitter and shine of Hollywood. Justin, despite looking forward to the amazing opportunity, was going to miss being surrounded by all the comforts home had to offer.

“Frowning causes premature wrinkles.”

“I’m not frowning, just ruminating. Sometimes Pittsburgh isn’t really as shitty as we make it out to be. It’s the only home I’ve ever known.”

“It’s just buildings, Justin. Hollywood has those too.”

“But Hollywood doesn’t have Deb and the diner, Emmett, Daphne, or you. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not throwing myself a pity-party. The job and living in California is challenging, exciting, and exactly what I want to do right now, but at the same time, a huge piece of me is deeply embedded here.”

“Well, we all have to spread our wings sometimes. Fly higher than a falcon or some shit. Eight months is hardly a lifetime. And there will be plenty of surgery enhanced asses for you to fuck.”

“An eagle.”

“What?”

“The song is ‘fly like an eagle’, not a falcon.”

“Whatever the fuck. That had nothing to do with my point.” 

Walking the last block in silence, they finally reached the diner. For a Sunday night, the place was packed. Every queen in town was gathered at the counter or in a booth, eager to discuss the weekend’s gossip before the work week began. Justin greeted several regulars as he and Brian spotted Emmett, Michael, and Hunter in the back corner. They were crouched close together, ogling what appeared to be a gossip magazine.

Brian nudged Michael over so that he and Justin could slide in next to him.

“What the fuck has everyone’s panties in a bunch?”

“Oh my god, Brian! You mean Justin hasn’t already showed you?”

“Showed him what?” Justin was just as confused.

“We’re in the latest issue of People!”

“What?! Let me see!”

Justin yanked the magazine from Emmett’s hands, eagerly scanning the page for his name. At the very bottom of a ‘Films in the Making’ column was a short blurb on Rage. He smiled and read the few lines aloud.

“Word has it that Brett Kellar’s new film has been given the go-ahead for production. This time around, Kellar hopes to make the big bucks from an adaptation of the fledgling, underground comic book, Rage. Apparently, the two creators of the comic are gay as well as their hero. Is Hollywood ready for a queer superhero?”

“Isn’t it fabulous, sweetie? You and Michael are gonna be famous!”

Brian snorted, not the least bit amused.

“Yo bitches, let’s calm down about the article. The movie is still theoretical at best. And if anyone’s going to be famous, it’s me. I’ll probably have to get a fucking bodyguard service to fight off all the drooling admirers. Jesus, what do you have to do around here to get a little service? Deb?!”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause Justin and me are gonna be richer than you soon.” Michael turned his wide-eyed expression to Justin. “So, what was Hollywood like? You never gave me all the dirty details.”

“Oh yes, baby. Do tell. Auntie Em wants to know all the celebrity gossip. Who’s really a fag? Who’d you fuck, and how big were their dicks?”

Justin was still buried between the gossip rag’s pages. “It was great. The weather was perfect. Brett took me to all the celebrity parties. Everyone there is beautiful, and the guys are to die for. There may or may not have been a widely acclaimed ‘straight’ actor with an eight inch cock who begged me to fuck him.”

“Ashton? Matt? Brad? We know you have a thing for older men. Ow, fuck!” Emmett was interrupted by an Armani clad foot making nice with his shin. Brian whistled innocently into the menu.

“Sorry, Em. Top secret Hollywood business. You understand?”

“Of course, honey. This just reminds me of the last time I was in LA. At a rather crummy bathhouse I fucked…”

“We know,” Brian, Michael, and Justin all chorused. Emmett rolled his eyes, trying unsuccessfully to look less affronted.

“Brett asked me to be assistant art director on the film.” Justin watched as Michael and Emmett both stared at him dumbfounded.

“Assistant Art Director? But you don’t live anywhere near Los Angeles. Isn’t art kind of hard to do over the phone? Does he want me to help with the script?”

Debbie reached the table in time to catch the tail end of Michael’s questions. “Help with what script?”

“Rage, Ma. Brett needs our help on the movie.”

“Actually, he only asked about the art assistant thing, but I’m sure he’ll be needing your input soon enough. And I’ll be relocating to California for eight months cause there’s no way I can do the job from here.” 

Emmett glanced Brian’s way, wanting to see how he was taking this particular disruption in his life. He was blankly staring into the menu he’d memorized some four years back, face taut with the pretense of nonchalance. To the average individual, Brian was the picture of collectivity, but Emmett knew better. After all, his Aunt Lulah had always told him she suspected he’d been blessed with the family’s secret psychic powers.

“That’s great, Sunshine! My boys are gonna be stars! I need to start looking for a gown suitable for a movie premiere. What do you boys think of sequins?” Deb eyes had glazed over, mind filled with sparkling images of grandeur and tacky dresses.

“Ma, don’t go overboard or anything. There’s still a lot that has to happen.” Brian snickered at the sudden turn around in Michael’s behavior. 

“Don’t you say that, Michael Charles Novotny. I always told you you’d be a big fucking success, didn’t I?” Debbie’s lips grew firm as she smacked Michael in the back of the head.

“Jeez. What did I do?” 

Deb’s eyes watered as she poised her pen to take their order.

“What’ll it be, you little shit?”

The boys ordered and the rest of their meal was pretty uneventful. Debbie discussed replacing Justin temporarily at the diner, while Emmett and Michael argued over whether or not Conor James made a more believable Rage than Ashton Kutcher. Brian remained surprisingly quiet. The evening ended with Deb smothering Justin and Michael in congratulatory kisses, making them both promise not to forget her when they were among the rich and elite. 

Back at the loft, Hollywood and Rage had been abandoned. Brian’s body was sprawled across Justin’s back, hands pressed together above their heads. They moved together; flesh, bones, and sinew, to the sound of a pulsing, techno beat emanating from nearby speakers. The soft, recessed lighting above the bed created new shadows and depth to their lovemaking, adding a smoky ambience that the neon lights had lacked. As their pace quickened, the air filled with low, needy gasps and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Climaxing simultaneously, Brian bit the back of Justin’s neck as they both shuddered through their orgasms.

A few minutes later, both lay spent beneath the duvet. Justin had snuggled into Brian’s arms, reveling in the steady rise and fall of his chest. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, leaving Brian awake and alone with his thoughts. This had become an every night occurrence since Justin had confessed his California intentions. Soon enough, 3000 miles would separate them, and Brian fully intended to make every last moment count. Sleep was a nuisance that took up too much time; time that the ever-growing knot in is stomach told him might be all they had left.


End file.
